


Boys Hostage

by kuonji



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU, DCU - Comicverse
Genre: Backstory, Character Study, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-16
Updated: 2012-09-16
Packaged: 2017-11-14 10:26:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/514247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kuonji/pseuds/kuonji
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>He hadn't expected this.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Boys Hostage

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into English available: [Boys Hostage/人质男孩](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1001397) by [DOUHUA](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DOUHUA/pseuds/DOUHUA)



> This story was translated into Chinese by DOUHUA! Read it [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1001397).
> 
> Alternative Links:   
> <http://kuonji14.livejournal.com/53543.html>  
> <http://batfic.livejournal.com/1763447.html>

_The men came out of nowhere. He had been training for years now. He knew -- he was utterly confident -- that eight out of ten times when he sparred with a grown man he could beat him, but-- He hadn't expected this. He had left his guardian's side for just a moment and suddenly, alone, he was just another defenseless little boy._

***

They had smothered him with some kind of knockout chemical that left him nauseated upon waking, his head pounding and his heartbeat palpitating in a not-entirely-normal rhythm (though that might just be adrenaline). They'd given him a high concentration, probably erring on the side of caution. Dick's face tingled from the chemical burn, and he could still taste the sickly sweet odor in the back of his throat. Most likely chloroform, he diagnosed to himself with disgust. Its effects didn't last long, but it worked well enough and it was easy to get. You could, in fact, make it yourself at home, as Batman had shown him. Dick couldn't believe he'd fallen for it.

He'd left Bruce's side for just a moment, chasing after his baseball cap. Such a mundane thing. He should have been more alert, but then again, why would he have been? He wasn't Robin today. He was just Dick, a normal boy watching a normal ball game, until some rude stranger had knocked his cap off and it had gone flying down the stairs and--

It'd been a set-up, of course. He'd been careless, but he wasn't _stupid_. Slitting his eyes carefully open, he saw the back of a bucket seat. So the rolling motion wasn't just his headache. He was in a moving vehicle. A quick visual sweep told him he was in the back seat of a dilapidated sedan. The ragged, sharp edges of where the leather had torn away from the underlying foam poked him in the back and sides. Two unsavory fellows were in the front.

"Is he awake yet? Shit, we didn't kill the little squirt, did we?" the man in the shotgun seat asked, turning around to look at Dick. Dick shut his eyes and carefully regulated his breathing.

"Relax. He's fine."

"You sure Wayne will pay up? The brat's not even his real son."

"Yeah, he'll pay. Don't you remember that court case a few years back? The guy swore up and down he loved the kid like his own boy."

Dick breathed a sigh of relief at that. So he hadn't run afoul of one of Batman's enemies. Their secret identities were safe. Quickly, he slipped his bonds and then risked a quick peek up and out the side window.

He was lucky. There was a grass border on this sidewalk, and they weren't doing over forty. He even recognized the street. They were only a mile or so away from the stadium. In one swift move, he opened the side door and dived.

The last thing he heard from the goons was, "Hey! What the--!"

Rolling to disperse the force, he used the last of it to propel himself to his feet and take off running in the opposite direction of the car. Not even the chloroform could destroy his natural athletic abilities. He cut into the first alley he saw and hopped over into the next street with the help of a handy fire escape. By the time the thugs got the car turned around -- or stopped so they could pursue on foot -- Dick would be long gone. He'd be back in time for the start of the second inning.

Alfred was going to have something to say about the state of his _clothes_ , though.

***

_His head ached where they had hit him, and his arms were fast going numb from how he'd been bound. The hand snagged in his collar shook him until his teeth rattled. He'd tried a few punches, but... They were so big, so impossibly strong. Sparring in a clean, brightly lit dojo was nothing at all like this. He'd been fooling himself. He couldn't-- He could barely think through the fear except to long for a rescue. Shamed, angry sobs escaped him even though he tried to keep his lips pressed tight. A sharp slap cut his noises short. "Shut up, brat." He tasted blood in his mouth, and he hated himself even as he cringed._

***

He'd gotten soft, living in the Manor, having everyone treat him like some kind of prince at the fancy restaurants and parties Bruce took him to. He'd started to think that there were two different worlds -- Robin's world and Jason's -- when really, he ought to know better. It was all the same sprawling, dirty, dark, secret, glint-edged city that they all inhabited. Right now, Jason was at the top, in the clubhouse, but there was no reason why the mooks Robin dug out of the trash heaps at the bottom every night couldn't still touch him.

"Pathetic," he scoffed, bashing the second guy in the face with a left hook.

Guy #1 was still out cold from Jason's first blow. He'd wake up with a bruised face and a headache the size of Texas.

They'd probably been expecting easy pickings. Two muscle-bound giants to handle one scared teenager should've been a cinch. Jason knew that most kids his age _would_ have been easy targets in his situation -- alone in the stairwell of a minor department building after coming out of an R-rated movie he'd snuck into.

The left side of Jason's face was still smarting from the blow Guy #1 had given him, and one of the first things he'd done once he'd realized what was happening had been to smash the hypo in Guy #2's hand. He didn't know what they'd been planning to give him, but it couldn't be anything good. If he'd been anyone else but Batman's partner, he'd be drugged up or dead now. The thought of some kid getting cornered by these jerks made him whirl and land a boot heel in Guy #2's kidney extra hard.

The need for information, however, made him hold the next punch. People with broken jaws couldn't talk, and the thug's partner -- currently decorating the stairs between the fourth and fifth floor -- wasn't in a state to answer any questions.

Guy #2 flinched as Jason got in his face. "Why'd you attack me, huh? What did you want?" He watched the guy sweat for a second, then raised his fist.

"We, uh, we was goin' to hold ya for ransom." Now that was a concept. Jason had had his share of scrapes, but he wasn't used to being worth _this_ kind of trouble. It was kind of flattering, actually. But he knew from both his prior life and his current night job what a kidnapping usually meant.

"Yeah? And then what? Slit my throat once you got the cash?"

The guy was too stupid to deny it, just looked uncomfortable. It was really unbelievable how stupid the average crook was. Batman was right when he called them superstitious and cowardly.

"Should've done your homework. Bruce Wayne's no pushover, and more importantly, _neither am I_."

He didn't wait for the crook to offer any empty apologies or professions of innocence. He just knocked his head back against the concrete wall hard enough that the guy slumped to the ground a moment later. Jason kicked his shoulder for good measure.

What a pair of idiots. He couldn't believe they'd gotten the drop on him. Well, they'd get the word around now not to mess with him.

He left them bound up with their own shoelaces and belts. Either someone would find them before the cleaning crews came on shift tonight, or... they wouldn't.

Checking his watch -- fortunately unscathed in the brawl -- he yelped and took off at a run. He was about to miss his curfew.

God, Bruce was going to give him a lecture for this, he just knew.

***

_"...in a plain paper bag. You don't show, or you call the cops, and the brat gets it." The man moved the phone receiver until it was in front of the boy's face and growled, "Tell ol' Jeeves you're alive, kid. Don't try anythin' funny." His partner, a stocky, dark man, pulled out a revolver from his pocket. He cocked it and pointed it at him threateningly, and-- and the sight of that gun recalled him to why he still breathed every day, to what he lived for now, to his vow, to his training, to... everything. He felt disgust and contempt and utter screaming rage roil through him-- but in the next moment, he'd gotten control of himself. "Alfred," he said calmly into the mouthpiece of the phone, "I'll call you back to tell you where to meet me."_

***

Tim hadn't expected it, and that was the most embarrassing thing. As a child, he had gotten used to spending hours alone out in the city without consequences. And then he'd become Robin, and whatever lingering caution he'd retained for the common criminal had basically disappeared. He'd never truly appreciated the dangers inherent in his situation.

Well. That could be dumb luck. Or it could be the difference in being a Drake and being a Wayne. An order of magnitude greater of wealth and influence surely had something to do with it.

"Bruce won't pay," he said, trying to sound defiant. A rich, self-entitled teenager instead of an irritated vigilante whom this bunch of idiots had gotten the drop on. As soon as his head cleared a bit more, he'd get started on figuring a way said teenager could conceivably get out of this mess, in case the masked cavalry couldn't reach him in time. "WayneTech has a strict non-negotiation policy."

"He won't have to. You got your own accounts, right? We ain't too greedy. How's a cool half a mil sound?"

"I can't exactly get it from here," Tim reminded them. They were in a basement somewhere. He could hear occasional traffic outside. Whatever they'd used to knock him out had screwed up his sense of smell a little, but he didn't think they were anywhere close to the water. If he could just get outside, he should be able to get his bearings off of the architectural landmarks. Gotham was not a city for track houses.

"That's why you're gonna take a trip to the bank and get us what we want. Meet us in exactly one hour at the docks, Pier 5. No funny business."

Tim blinked internally. Was it that easy? "So you'll let me go?"

"Sure, kid. But if you don't pay up..." He drew one finger across his throat in what he must imagine was a threatening gesture. Tim tried his best to look intimidated.

"You promise not to hurt me?"

"Now why would we do a thing like that?" The fellow laughed and his cronies with him. With a valiant effort, Tim resisted rolling his eyes.

Fifteen minutes later, he'd been turned loose in an alley. He feigned fear until the toughs were out of sight and sound, then obediently found the nearest bank just in case he was being watched -- and telephoned the police.

Whichever members of the gang who didn't show up at the meet in an hour, a certain bird would have no trouble picking up tonight.

***

_It was easy, once he remembered. They had left his legs unbound, and while his slacks didn't allow as much freedom of movement as his practice gear, it was enough. It was completely different and yet also the same, to strike at knees and groins and throats instead of at padded mitts and practice dummies and punching bags. The shorter man went down quickly, and his weapon was kicked away into the dark corners where small, sharp-toothed creatures chirruped in surprise and excitement. The other at first tried to subdue this suddenly wild hostage, then, finding himself failing, abandoned both victim and partner and fled._

***

Damian laughed out loud before he announced, "I'm going to go now."

Because he did not want to damage his clothing, and because they had amused him, he did not use maximum efficiency. It took about the same amount of time as Pennyworth claimed was the correct duration to steep a cup of Darjeeling. The perfect amount of sweetness.

"Damian, where have you been?" his father demanded when he returned.

"Interacting with the locals," he replied carelessly. His father was not fooled but gave him a suspicious look.

"What happened to your shoes?"

He looked down with distaste at the dress shoes he wore in his guise as an innocent civilian, the son of an immensely wealthy man of good society. They did not provide the same traction or power as the boots he was accustomed to -- nor did they stand up as well to bloodstains. He shook out his handkerchief and began cleaning off the marks. "Two men attacked me. I believe, from their dialogue, that it was their intention to hold me for ransom."

His father's frown converted into a darker look, and he swept his critical gaze over Damian, which simultaneously irked and delighted him. He scowled to hide both responses.

"Are you--?" When Damian gave him a scornful look, his father amended his question to, "You didn't hurt them too badly, I hope. You're only a harmless little ten-year-old, remember?"

"They'll wake up soon. They might even remember what happened." He hoped they did.

His father nodded in acceptance and asked no further questions. "Alfred might know a way to save those shoes," he said instead.

Damian scowled at mention of the infuriatingly multi-talented manservant. Still, Pennyworth had his uses. "I requested lamb shanks for dinner. I hope you don't mind, Father."

"Lamb sounds fine."

***

_By the time his guardian arrived with the police and the ambulance, the boy had decided two things. Firstly, that he needed to learn a few tricks from an escape artist. Getting himself out of his bonds had taken far too long, and the odds were that he would sooner or later find himself in a similar predicament again. Secondly... He slipped the emergency blanket off his shoulders and folded it before handing it back to his faithful guardian and servant. "I'm going to take a trip," he announced, making an effort to sound like his father and not like the boy he had been mere hours ago. "Japan first, I think. My sensei recommended me to seek study under someone he knows in Kamakura." His guardian considered him with an appraising air -- then nodded. "Very good, Master Bruce. I will arrange it." He nodded back in acknowledgement -- and a tiny bit of relief. Then he squared his shoulders and climbed into the waiting car that would take him home._

  
END.

**Author's Note:**

> The court case referred to is in Batman #20. Dick's aunt and uncle come to claim him and Bruce temporarily loses guardianship of his ward.
> 
> * * *
> 
>   
> If you enjoyed this story, you might try these:  
>      [20/20](http://kuonji14.livejournal.com/13801.html) (Stargate SG-1), by kuonji  
>      [Show Time](http://kuonji14.livejournal.com/41820.html) (Due South), by kuonji  
>      [Promise](http://community.livejournal.com/starskyhutch911/524886.html) (Starsky & Hutch), by kuonji  
>      [Teen Hostage!](http://freddylloyd.livejournal.com/17895.html) (Legends of the Dark Knight), by Freddy Lloyd   
>      [Missing In Action](http://www.fanfiction.net/s/6800390/1/Missing-in-Action) (Young Justice cartoon), by Sincerely MNM  
>      [Boy Hostage?](http://www.fanfiction.net/s/7928143/1/Boy-hostage) (Robin), by Heroicagal 


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